Excel Saga Again
by Rhianwen
Summary: [Chapter 3 Uploaded] Yes, folks, it's a 'what happened after the series ended' story! Several moments of vaguely cutesy or just plain weird fluff that may or may not be balanced out by actual stuff happening. Here's hopin!
1. Do Not Disparage the Starbucks!

Excel Saga Again

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Summary: "Hell hath no fury like a militant feminist with a sense of outraged justice." Ilpalazzo is about to learn the bitter truth in this slightly adapted quote as the seventh member of the ACROSS Six appears on the scene. Yes, folks, it's another 'what happened after' story!

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It was a dark and stormy night. One hooded and cloaked lone woman of indeterminate age, though clearly neither particularly old nor particularly young, in a secluded cave deep in the mountains noted the crack of thunder and nearly simultaneous illumination of the scene by a jagged streak of lightning with a nod of satisfaction. So, those idiots from the special effects department had managed to do something right for once. A pleasant surprise, indeed.

Still, this was no time to be dwelling on such things.

She had a plan to be set into motion, and it was far too important to be trusted to an underling. After all, when one wanted something done right, one needed a woman on the scene.

Because of course her underlings were all men. The career of an underling was far too demeaning a career for the goddess that dwelt inside every woman.

It was at this point that the mysterious cave-feminist realized that she had gotten sadly off-track once more, and returned to her plotting.

   "Mark my words," she murmured, crossing the thickly carpeted floor of the surprisingly nicely-decorated cave, and seating herself gracefully on an old Lazy Boy recliner upholstered in deep purple velvet. "The idealistic organization of ACROSS is going to undergo some drastic changes in the near future. Those ridiculous men that called themselves my brothers and my superiors are no longer an issue since their mysterious death some time ago which, disappointingly, I had nothing to do with. However, the men directly below them in the chain of command who never learned of my existence, kept a dark secret by the chauvinistic six with whom I shared a womb and a childhood, will find that women cannot and will not be kept down and oppressed forever! I, That Woman, the seventh member of the ACROSS Six, will see to it!"

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   "Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaail, Lord Ilpalazzo!" Excel Excel and Hyatt shouted enthusiastically, the latter amid a series of wracking coughs and the former with eyes shining as adoringly and adorably as ever they had in the recently ended anime series – er, in recent events, that is. Heh-heh-heh…hey, hold on; this is Excel Saga! We can refer shamelessly to the fourth wall!

Pointedly ignoring the narration, Ilpalazzo sipped his coffee and then set the mug down on the table within the small-but-part-of-a-massive-trillion-dollar-corporation-those-damn-capitalist-pigs-that-nevertheless-sure-brew-damn-good-coffee coffee shop, and sighed in annoyance, glancing around to see if anyone else in the nearby vicinity had been distracted from their severely overpriced beverages by this.

   "I asked you two not to call me that during this special relocated restructuring meeting of ACROSS," he grumbled.

When Excel and Hyatt merely remained in front of the small circular wire-and-ceramic table, frozen in their salute position, hands raised triumphantly into the air, he made an irritated noise.

   "Now, will you two ladies kindly take a seat?"

Hyatt pulled out one of the other two chairs at the small round table and seated herself slowly and gracefully.

Excel made an energetic leap over Hyatt and into the other chair, landing head-first.

   "Hey, someone dropped two-hundred yen and a pair of pink lacy underwear under here!" came her muffled remark.

   "Ah! Excellent," Ilpalazzo said, pleasantly surprised. "The money will go toward our funds for the rebuilding of ACROSS. The underwear, you may keep, Excel."

   "But, Lord Ilpalazzo," Hyatt began hesitantly, "doesn't ACROSS disdain the filthy, capitalist currency of the ignorant masses?"

Before Ilpalazzo could reply to this in anything more than a glare at Hyatt for drudging up old fine-sounding phrases and trying to infuse ACROSS with actual continuity, Excel gave an excited squeal.

   "I can really keep them?! Thank-you for your great generosity, Lord Ilpalazzo! Excel has always wanted a pair like this! Actually, she hasn't, because they look kinda small and they feel really itchy, and the little bow on the front is a little much, and bows in your hair are one thing, when they're where people can see 'em, but putting a bow where n one can see it unless you walk around with your pants around your ankles, which not a lot of people do anymore, although there was that one really scary week last year when mooning became a real fad for a while, seems kinda silly. Still, setting all this aside as irrelevant and really kind of a waste of breath and valuable energy and time which can never be replace, just transformed into a different state – the energy, that is; not the time – Excel will try on her new underwear right now! Just have to take my shorts off first," she finished, returning to her seat after several high-energy laps around the coffee shop, spinning at top speed.

After this, she set about wriggling about in her seat in a manner that released a heavy flow of blood from the nose of every young man within a five-mile radius, and definitely within the coffee shop, which made a mess of no scant size, and quite annoyed the employees who would, as they said petulantly, "have to clean that up, y'know…if we feel like it".

   "I just told you two not to call me that here," Ilpalazzo grumbled.

   "But then…what are we to call you instead?" Hyatt asked.

Ilpalazzo considered this for a long moment.

   "A typically brilliant question, Agent Hyatt."

   "Thank-you, sir."

   "Whoa! These pink lacy underwear fit perfectly!" Excel proclaimed joyfully, jugging sugar packets. "Really, its kind of uncanny that the last person who sat at this table was exactly the same size as me, but I guess when you stop to consider that every single girl in this city is shaped exactly the same because it is an anime, after all, and any differences from one girl's body to another's are either perceived only by that girl or are in place only for the purpose of a plot device or to spawn a hopefully entertaining moment of dialogue, and usually vanish by the next frame, it's not such a big, weird, Twilight Zone coincidence after all."

   "Hey, hey, how's about you model 'em for us?" a young man nearby called with a suggestive laugh.

Ilpalazzo shot the boy…a murderous glare, that is.

Excel shot the boy a look less murderous than confused.

   "Well, I guess I could, but I don't really see why," she shrugged, standing up in her chair and reaching for the zip on the front of her shorts.

Hyatt looked on curiously. She was quite interested in what sorts of undergarments people left in coffee shops.

Ilpalazzo stood up quickly and caught Excel's arm, dragging her back into her chair, at which point she stayed there for all of twenty seconds before getting bored with this whole business of 'staying still' and leaping from her chair to whirl about the table.

   "A typically useless and pointless bit of meandering, thanks to you, Excel," he huffed, shooting the boy a few tables away another death-glare, just for good measure. "Now. Back to the important issue at hand."

   "You mean, why the heck we're meeting in a coffee shop?" Excel asked from her position on hands and knees, peering at the floor carefully and noting curiously that the tiles were really oddly shaped, and that they kinda put one in mind of a chicken reading a book and playing hockey with a cow if you looked at it long enough.

   "No! I've explained that, but shall do so again for the sake of providing the reader with useful exposition. We have assembled at this coffee shop because ACROSS's underground headquarters were destroyed, along with almost everything else, by the sea of blood that enveloped the planet some time back."

At this, he glared again at Hyatt, who shrank back and looked down at her hands, folded in her lap, sheepishly.

   "I apologize, sir."

   "I guess your insurance policy wouldn't cover claims for damage caused by an employee with way too much blood," Excel said thoughtfully.

   "Actually," Ilpalazzo said grandly, "the policy did cover damage from large quantities of blood. As a member of ACROSS, I was prepared for every eventuality. However, as a member of ACROSS, I am also above paying my insurance premiums, and thus my policy was cancelled several months ago in what I consider to be a show of extreme unfairness and discrimination."

Hyatt raised one hand timidly.

   "May Hyatt ask, discrimination on what grounds?"

   "That insurance company has been against those with ambitions of conquest for years!"

   "I…see," Hyatt murmured.

The other girl's hand shot into the air, only the tips of her fingers visible over the edge of the table.

   "Excel has a question!"

Ilpalazzo closed his eyes briefly.

   "I know I will regret this heartily, but go ahead."

   "Where did Lord Ilpalazzo find a coffee shop for ACROSS to relocate its restructuring meeting to, if the entire globe has been covered with a sea of blood? It seems to Excel that if everything really has been destroyed in a sea of blood, which it obviously has, since we were just talking about it and no anime has ever been known to abandon continuity when it's convenient to a gag or somethin' silly like that, and especially not from one second to the next, unless you're watching an anime based on one of them kicking-punching-ripping-heads-off-and-removing-spleens-through-noses fighting games, there shouldn't be a lot of coffee shops around in which to hold restructuring meetings of secret, ideological organizations like ACROSS."

   "You really ought to be more observant, Excel," he said with a tiny, cold smile. "This is a Starbucks. There are already twelve others completed. They were the first step in the rebuilding of civilization."

   "That's kinda sad, isn't it?" Excel commented.

Ilpalazzo bristled.

   "Do NOT talk that way about Starbucks!" he commanded furiously, reaching for something directly to the left of him that only he could see.

When it failed to be there, he pouted.

   "Of course. We aren't in our old headquarters. Naturally, the rope wouldn't be here."

   "Although, I did get dropped down the pit in our apartment a few days ago," Excel added, scratching her head. "The guy who lives a floor below us wasn't too happy when Excel fell through the roof and landed in his bath with him. He said my cute roommate and I would have to come back sometime and wash his back for him to make up for it, but thankfully, that was off camera and easily ignored, and Hatchan, if some weird guy with greasy hair and a tattoo on his arm that says, "I Luv Tentacles" comes to our door, don't let him in, okay?"

   "Consider that an early birthday gift," Ilpalazzo smirked. "I had it installed while you two were on your last mission. Oh, and Agent Hyatt, be very careful to only sit at the other end of your table from here on out."

   "But…our table, like our apartment, was destroyed," Hyatt pointed out hesitantly. "Thus, it would stand to reason that the strange man in the apartment below us, as well as that apartment, would be gone, too."

Excel stared at her oddly.

   "What're you talking about, Hatchan? We just came from our apartment!"

Hyatt blinked, then began to flounder helplessly, searching desperately for a log of logic in the ocean of disassociated chaos, praying desperately that signifier might bump into signified and form a concept before she lost her grip and drowned. And before she could think anything further in literary theory terms used sadly out of context.

   "But…but…I thought that everything had been wiped out in a sea of blood, Senior."

Excel and Ilpalazzo exchanged disbelieving glances.

   "Yeah, when it's a plot point," Excel said very slowly, as one might when talking to a remarkably dense child. "Not when it actually adversely affects the day-to-day action. Geez, Hatchan, what are you thinking? There's continuity, and then there's a big, huge, heaping, gaping, sharp, prickly pain in the ass."

   "And whose fault was that sea of blood, anyway?" Ilpalazzo added.

   "Holds a grudge, doesn't he?" the young man a few tables away, the only extra in the coffee shop to be given a speaking role, called jovially.

Ilpalazzo turned to glare at him.

   "Yes, and don't think I don't remember you clearly. Just be warned: if you ever, _ever_ hit on my loyal follower Excel – whom I myself am not at all interested in, of course," he added hastily, "you will come to a very painful end."

   "Lord Ilpalazzo's being possessive," Excel sighed dreamily, hands clasped, eyes wide and starry. "I feel all warm and fluttery and squishy…but _that_ could just be because I sat in something. I think someone left a piece of cake on this chair. I really wish I'd noticed before I sat on it. Now I'm gonna have to was these when I get in, _and _I ruined a perfectly good, probably only partially-eaten piece of cake," she added sadly.

   "Hey, don't look at us," one of the employees called angrily. "We're not getting paid to clean up other peoples' garbage!"

   "Uh…yeah, we are," another employee muttered to her.

She blinked.

   "Shut up!"

With an annoyed noise, Ilpalazzo turned pointedly away from the two coffee shop employees, who were by this point playing a heated game of hockey with two stir sticks and a sugar packet.

   "As fascinating as that little interlude of conversation with the ignorant masses was, we have important matters to discuss."

   "Does Lord Ilpalazzo refer to the matter of what Senior Excel and I are to call him?" Hyatt asked.

   "Yes, it does. And after much thought, I have decided—"

The door of the coffee shop slammed open, breaking off the end of the statement.

   "I don't suppose there's any chance of your giving them your _real_ name, little boy," the hooded and cloaked, neither-old-nor-young woman in the doorway commented nastily.

   "Little boy?!" he repeated disbelievingly, standing up with enough force to send his chair skittering back into the one directly behind it.

   "Ow! Jerk," the man in said chair spat as the impact caused him to spill his piping hot coffee down the front of his shirt.

   "Have you any idea who I am?" Ilpalazzo continued, ignoring the man behind him as stonily as he tended to ignore anything he didn't feel like acknowledging at the time.

The woman pushed her hood back as she approached the table, to reveal a face neither particularly pretty nor uncommonly ugly, nor memorable at all in any way. Her longish thick black hair was fastened behind her head in a tight bun.

   "Do I have any idea who you are?" she repeated. "Well, we have files on you from the age of three, back when you were just a little arrogant yet charismatic idealist with ambitions to dominate the toy box of your pre-school."

She withdrew a thick manila folder, pulled a small snapshot from it, and shoved it at him. As he looked at it, he shook his head with a fondly nostalgic smile.

   "Ah, sweet memories of carefree childhood. Back then, my shoulder guards were only a foot and a half across. Every week, my parents would receive complaints about their son or daughter – usually their daughter – being dropped down a mysteriously appearing pit in my sandbox by that 'strange little grey-haired kid with the big shoulders'."

   "Hey, ya got any nude photos in there?" Excel asked the woman eagerly, slithering from her chair, under the table, and up behind the woman and trying to peer over her shoulder.

She laughed, ruffling the blonde girl's hair fondly.

   "Poor little misinformed fool….thinking that a _man_ will offer you true happiness."

   "Uh…does that mean 'no'?" Excel asked, pulling away from the woman as one long, cold finger began to toy with her ear.

The woman rolled her eyes and sighed.

   "Yes, it does."

Then she turned to Ilpalazzo as Excel slunk back to her seat, disappointed, but only until the distraction of seeing how many sugar packets she could fit into her mouth at once presented itself.

   "As you can clearly see, we have every idea who you are. Perhaps the better question is, do you have any idea who I am?"

Ilpalazzo considered this very carefully for a moment, adjusting his glasses.

   "No, I'm afraid I haven't the vaguest idea," he finally replied carelessly, setting his chair upright and taking his seat once again. "Now, where were we, ladies?"

   "Hey!" the woman exclaimed in annoyance, banging on the table. "I'm the mysterious, unknown character in a cool hood and cloak who breezed into the first scene with detailed information about you, you shmuck! Aren't you curious as to where I've acquired it?"

Once again, Ilpalazzo stopped to ponder this.

   "Not especially, no," he finally replied. "Excel? Hyatt? Are either of you curious?"

Everyone looked first to Hyatt, who had flopped face-forward onto the table, and was now surrounded by a most unhygienic pool of her own blood.

   "I see," he sighed. "Excel?"

   "If the mysterious lady don't have nudie pictures of Lord Ilpalazzo, Excel don't care," Excel replied as airily as a mouthful of sugar would let her, before returning to the task of repeatedly poking Hyatt with a spoon.

   "You realize, of course, that you will be dropped down the pit once for every time you've called me that while here, Excel," he told her absently. Then he turned to the older woman. "There you have it, Miss. It seems as though no one here could care less who you are or what you may or may not know. Therefore, if you would leave us in peace, I'm certain we would all appreciate it."

The woman's face twisted with anger until it became almost memorable.

   "Oh, no!" she barked, dragging a chair from a nearby table and pulling it up to the table occupied by three very bewildered people. "Now that I have seen just how sad the current state of affairs in this branch of the idealistic organization of ACROSS has become, I will not leave until I have seen a change! And anyway," she continued, sounding nearly hurt, "after I came all the way here, I'd damn well better get to enjoy imparting the great revelation of my identity."

Ilpalazzo sighed impatiently.

   "Very well. Please impart what you wish to impart and leave quickly. We have important, very confidential business to – hold on; if you've traveled from outside of F-City, what do you know about ACROSS?"

The woman's expression was openly triumphant.

   "For one thing, I know that a certain foolish little boy who believes himself to be very grown-up and very powerful indeed has planned to take advantage of the recent deaths of the ACROSS Six to seize control of the entire organization while no one was looking."

Excel leaned over to Hyatt, who had just sat up weakly.

   "Hey, who do you think the ACROSS Six are? Excel knows that she doesn't pay a whole lot of attention all the time, but she's pretty sure she'd remember a name like that, particularly if Lord Ilpalazzo was the one mentioning them, since Excel remembers not only every word that Lord Ilpalazzo has ever said, but the tone and inflection he used to say it, and the day of the week he said it on, all filed away in the well-organized cabinet that is her mind!"

   "I would suppose that they are the six men who are in charge of ACROSS at the global level, Senior," Hyatt replied, wondering if it was safe to giggle at the comparison of Excel's mind to a well-organized filing cabinet, which her Senior had obviously meant as a joke.

   "Global level?" Excel repeated, arm going oddly bendy as she scratched her head in confusion.

   "So, this is the level of ignorance you keep your staff members in!" the newcomer snorted. "Or are these two just remarkably uninformed? Perhaps you _have_ given your others an indication of who and what ACROSS is?"

   "Others?" Excel repeated to Hyatt. "Did we just sorta miss them being around, too? Does she mean all the octopuses and squids and tentacle monsters and alligators and things that live in the pit?"

The dark-haired woman overhead and stared at Excel in disbelief.

   "Don't tell me that you two are the only officers in this branch of ACROSS!"

   "Of course not," Ilpalazzo hastened to say uncomfortably.

   "Yeah! We also have our cute, cuddly emergency food supply, Menchi!" Excel added. "Somehow, no one remembers Menchi unless she's right in front of us, even though she's really really really super important! And she loves Hatchan and me with all her heart! She whimpers with joy whenever we come home, and we always find her waiting for us by the window! Once, we even found her trying to open the door so she could run to meet us outside!"

   "I…see," the woman muttered, rubbing her eyes wearily. Then she straightened up abruptly. "Very well! I see now what must be done! From this point forward, I will directly control our F-City branch!"

Ilpalazzo's eyes narrowed into golden slits.

   "Exactly who are you?"

   "I am That Woman, the seventh member of the ACROSS Six, kept ruthlessly hidden and oppressed because ACROSS is really a shamefully chauvinistic organization. But no more!"

She thumped the table for emphasis.

   "Excuse me!" Excel called out, raising her hand.

   "Excel, be quiet. We haven't got time for your idiotic questions right now," Ilpalazzo snapped.

That Woman glared icily at him.

   "Don't you think you've denied these two poor lovely and innocent young girls of necessary information for long enough?" She beamed stead at Excel. "Go ahead, sweetheart."

   "Excel knows she's not too bright, and she occasionally and maybe even often misses things that are really obvious to the rest of the world, and that's not even including things that exist of a metaphorical or metaphysical level instead of just plain old reality and the physical universe around her, but she doesn't understand how there can be a seventh member of a group called the ACROSS Six, unless the name is just a name to sound cool and doesn't really describe the group at all."

That Woman smiled tenderly, reaching across the table to take Hyatt's cold hand in her right hand, and Excel's very confused hand in her left.

   "I can understand how this is very bewildering for you both. It is happening very fast. Basically, girls, my brothers usurped the organization that I helped to found and referred to themselves as the ACROSS Six to hide the involvement of their sister."

   "Excel thinks she gets it now!"

   "That would be a miraculous occurrence," Ilpalazzo muttered, crossing his arms petulantly at how neither girl seemed inclined to pull her hand away from That Woman and come to his defense. So, this was the kind of loyalty he could expect!

   "No one asked you," That Woman snapped. Then she smiled a smile much like a gooey chocolate cake laced with arsenic. "However, you were correct before when you said that Lord Ilpalazzo is no longer a suitable name for you."

   "Actually, Miss That Woman," Excel broke in, "he only meant that we should call him something else while we're here so we don't draw attention."

That Woman rolled her eyes.

   "Because, of course, going out to a coffee shop in a long cloak and four-foot shoulders that you punched a hole in the doorway with, is a marvelous way to remain inconspicuous."

   "So, Miss That Woman," Hyatt began, typically soft and sweet, "are Senior Excel and I to understand that, as officers of the F-City branch of ACROSS, we are now under your direct command?"

Excel froze, metaphorically and then literally. Then she began to melt slightly, due to the warmth in the air stemming from all the brewing coffee typically found in a Starbucks, and was soon dripping messily all over the table, her face never shifting from its aghast expression at the idea of no longer working for the ultra-yummy center of her universe.

That Woman smirked.

   "Yes, girls, if you wish to remain with ACROSS. You two, as well as little Ilpala here."

Now it was 'little Ilpala's' turn to freeze, and he too made a bit of a mess melting all over the table due to the high temperature of the coffee shop. His expression, though, was more furious than aghast.

   "You _are_ surely joking."

   "Actually, I'm deadly serious. You are entirely welcome to remain with ACROSS, if you wish. Under my command, naturally, and your current position dictates that you will be working more closely with these two girls than you may have previously."

   "You don't mean…"

That Woman nodded.

   "Yes, I'm afraid I do; you'll actually have to leave headquarters every now and again. By the way," she added offhandedly, "since you won't have the time for it, might I borrow your dating simulator?"

   "What would That Woman want with a game whose objective is to score with chicks?" Excel whispered to Hyatt.

   "Perhaps Miss That Woman simply enjoys the challenge and strategy of romance?"

Excel stared.

   "That's sick, Hyatt."

Meanwhile, Ilpalazzo had continued, sounding almost tearful.

   "You do realize, of course, that you are compromising the infectious chaos and sex appeal of a devilishly good-looking man and the two loyal and beautiful young girls who serve him unwaveringly."

   "And a puppy," Excel chimed in.

   "I believe that is a compromise we can deal with," That Woman said gently. "Even the puppy. Of course, you may walk away from ACROSS right now, if you wish. Given your recent ambitions of a surreptitious take-over while no one was paying attention, I believe I'm letting you off easily. Now, what is your answer?"

Head in his hands, Ilpalazzo thought carefully through the choice before him, weighing up the positives and negatives. Life without ACROSS! What would he find to do with his time? What else would there be for him?

Still, would aching emptiness and severe boredom really be any worse than spending his days playing boot-licker to this obnoxious woman and her horrid 'mysterious tough girl' routine?

_I wonder just what my life without ACROSS would be…_

Suddenly, the music of several harps filled the air and the scene began to blur, as though viewed through a window streaked with rain.

   "Oh, boy," he faintly heard Excel say as he drifted off. "It's a flashback sequence!"

   "Um…actually, Senior…"

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End Notes: Whoo! First chapter, and I'm already resorting to the Parallel Universe gimmick for the next one! :o)

Anyway, I do hope this is as amusing to someone else out there as it is to me. It'll probably turn into a fairly long project. Call it sick wish-fulfillment and gleeful Ilpalazzo-torture, call it desperation for a new idea, call it whatever you want. Just call it when dinner's ready; it's hungry. Being a story is hard work.

Um…anyway…I'm a little uncertain about how to develop That Woman. If I make her too badass and all-powerful, I've got a Mary Sue on my hands, and I refuse to deal with that. However, if she's just some random lady with no special characteristics, it becomes ridiculous to think that she is the "seventh member of the ACROSS Six" who are all extremely bad at math, it seems. So, I'm trying to strike a balance, but I haven't had much time to develop her any way yet.

And I apologize in advance, but yes, there will be a probably massive amount of 'shippiness in this. And no, none of it will be with That Woman! She's not there to be happy! She's there to be obnoxious! :o)


	2. Oh, Boy! It's a Flashback Sequence!

Chapter 2

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Warning: Parallel Universe Sequence is now in effect. Please keep your hands, arms, and heads inside the story at all times. Especially your heads. If you don't pay attention, you might miss something!

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   "Good morning, morning," Ilpalazzo greeted the ray of sunshine streaming through his window, before stopping to wonder if this sudden propensity of his for talking to inanimate things was a side-effect of prolonged exposure to Excel.

He pushed this thought firmly aside as he climbed out of bed. He was _not_ beginning to think like Excel! That thought was far too horrifying to even entertain. And at any rate, if he was, surely he would be thinking much faster, leaving none of these thoughts unsaid, and experiencing the unexplainable urge to bounce around the room and defy all laws of gravity, logic, and so forth.

As memories of the underground ACROSS headquarters, where he would sit enthroned in that old recliner he had draped in red fabric and watch the aforementioned bouncing and rambling, drifted across his mind, he sat down again, slightly hunched over, and sighed sadly.

Who would have thought that a simple change from everything that lent structure to a person's life could leave them feeling so very empty?

­_I didn't think it was possible, but I'm even starting to miss seeing that blonde blur flying past, and Hyatt lying on the ground in a pool of her own blood!_

This, naturally, was only because both girls were so closely tied to his memories of ACROSS, and had nothing to do with the sorts of ridiculous bonds that the ignorant masses formed between one another.

Still, he thought resentfully, Excel and Hyatt certainly had taken their own sweet time in coming to visit him as they had promised they would. Or rather, as Excel had promised they would amid many tears and while clinging tightly to his leg, as Hyatt simply made gurgling noises while tipping gradually over.

But these were thoughts that all led him down the dangerous road that ended eventually in despair and regret of his decision. And thus, he tucked them firmly away to deal with later, and went about preparing for the day.

After a quick shower, a scene which afforded a good deal of very nice detail including a steamy mirror and warm, soapy water that our budget shall not allow us to go into at the moment or probably at any other moment, he dressed with equal haste in the interest of taking as little time as possible out of his Schedule of Big Important Things, and prepared to set out.

At the door of the decent-sized apartment, he stopped dead, hand hovering over the doorknob.

   "It finally occurs to me that I have absolutely no idea what I am going to do today."

He turned from the door and wandered to the sofa, and then sat down and stared blankly at the wall.

A few seconds later, he stood up and wandered to the chair on the right side of the couch, sat down, and stared at the bookshelf across from it.

Then, after gleaning all he could from this view, he stood up again, wandered back to the couch, sat down, and stared at the carpet for a time.

Finally, several moments later, he stood up again, his decision made.

   "Well, I can't do anything on an empty stomach. Time for breakfast! That should take up a bit of time, at least."

Then, on his way to the kitchen, he stopped short.

   "Why am I talking out loud?"

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Fifteen minutes later, Ilpalazzo stood at the kitchen counter, arms crossed, staring thoughtfully at a plate heaped with what had previously been two loaves of bread, and was now a rather unnecessarily large quantity of toast.

   "Well. That took up less time than I had budgeted for it. Of course," he added hopefully, "I haven't taken the time to put anything on the toast."

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Five more minutes, half of a small tub of margarine, and two jars of marmalade later, he stared at the same stack of toast previously, now thickly covered with layers of orange gelatinous goop, butter knife in hand.

   "Damn it. I suppose I am simply too efficient for my own good. Now I have enough toast and marmalade to feed this entire building. Not only this, but I don't particularly like marmalade. And on top of that, I have finally realized that I am not at all hungry."

He pouted for a moment, then brightened.

   "However, I do believe that I have dripped a bit of marmalade on this shirt. I had best go change."

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Another few minutes and another scene that has been deleted due to budget problems later, Ilpalazzo emerged from his room, a freshly-washed shirt identical to the one he had just taken off in its place.

   "And now," he announced grandly to no one in particular, "I have to go grocery shopping. After all, I'm out of bread."

Whistling a jaunty tune that would have filled nearly everyone who knew him with no small amount of alarm, he grabbed his house keys and wallet, and exited the apartment, letting the door slam shut behind him.

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    "Hmm…now that I think about it," he murmured to himself five minutes later, as he ambled down the street on the way to the grocery store, "it's been a while since I've done a full grocery shopping. I wouldn't want to run out of anything."

And thus, by the time he reached the store, the list of little necessities to pick up had grown exponentially, with the positive, but of course unplanned side-effect that the time of the excursion to the grocery store had stretched to an hour rather than fifteen minutes.

This though putting a little added bounce into his step, he made his way into the store and set about collecting the articles on his mental check-list.

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   "Oh, my goodness," Hyatt murmured to herself as she set down the can of peas that she was expending so much energy to lift, and had turned out to be far beyond the household budget, anyway. She peered closely at the tall figure on the other side of the shelf, visible through the small gap between two boxes of Hamburger Helper. "I believe that's Lord—er, Mr. Ilpalazzo. I would go to say hello, but I'm not feeling very well at the moment. He does look lonely, though. Perhaps Senior and I ought to go to visit later."

This decided, Hyatt gathered up her purchases – four loaves of slightly damaged bread; surely that should last her, Senior Excel, and Menchi for the rest of the month – and staggered weakly from the canned goods isle.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Accordingly, later that afternoon found Hyatt and Excel making their way to a reasonably upscale apartment building in a decently crime-free area of F.

Hyatt, of course, walked slowly and gracefully, the long skirt of her dress billowing slightly in the breeze. When someone would glance her way, she would send back a soft, sweet smile that delighted male and female alike…although, possibly for different reasons.

Excel, on the other hand, behaved very much like a small, wriggly puppy who has been shut up in a closet for a day and is finally being taken on a long-promised walk.

Although her energy and liveliness had not noticeably flagged in Ilpalazzo's absence, as might have been expected had she been anyone else, the excitement of going to see that same absent man on a real, live social call had sent a flood of extra energy through her.

Thus, she bounced and whirled and danced and leapt along the sidewalk, singing loudly about life's many blessings and life's many annoyances and life's many oddities. When someone would happen to glance her way with a baffled look, an annoyed look, or an indulgent and amused smile, she would grin back and more often than not shout out a greeting.

Had these been any other two girls in existence, their journey's end might have seen Hyatt skipping merrily up to the building, having saved her energy, while Excel dragged herself dustily along the ground, exhausted from her oddly-timed acrobatics.

Instead, since they were not any other two girls, but their own dear selves, as they approached the address they had been given by That Woman who decided with a shrug that she could afford to humor this little quirk that both girls seemed to have of actually being _fond_ of that arrogant twit, Hyatt dragged herself wearily, yet gracefully along, somehow remaining immaculately clean. This contrasted all the better with Excel, skipping dustily and chaotically up to the building.

   "You okay, Hatchan?" Excel called over her shoulder once the inkling began to sink into her preoccupied mind that she hadn't heard a wracking cough in some minutes.

   "I'm fine, Senior," Hyatt called weakly from the tree on the building's property, against which she was propped up.

Excel rushed to her friend.

   "If you needed to rest, why didn't you say so? Geez, Hatchan, sometimes I think you _like_ dying!"

   "I was feeling fairly well until just now," Hyatt explained. "I'm sure I will be fine in a moment. Why don't you go on up?"

Excel turned this idea over in her mind.

   "You sure you're okay to find your way up? Okay, then, I think I will!" she hurried on before Hyatt could answer.

With that, she turned and bolted into the building, nearly decimating an official-looking man carrying a briefcase.

Hyatt smiled fondly and just a wee bit knowingly after her friend.

------------------------------------------------------

_Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!_

Puzzled, Ilpalazzo set down the twenty-third laundry basket of the day and hurried to the door. Who on earth would be calling at this time of the afternoon?

His surprise was much greater than that of the reader when he opened the door to be greeted by a shiny-eyed, widely grinning Excel. It was partially this surprise not giving him time to think up a good response, and partially his boredom thus far that day that ensured that his greeting was not as cold as it might have been.

   "Excel? What on earth are you doing here? For that matter, how on earth did you find me?"

   "Oh, Lady That Woman gave Hatchan and me your address! She said that even though she didn't understand our bizarre tastes, it wasn't her place to judge, and women have enough to deal with in this world just with the men, that she doesn't think we should stand in the way of each other being happy."

   "So, where _is_ Hyatt, anyway?"

   "She's recovering under that tree outside," Excel replied easily.

Ilpalazzo nodded.

   "Ah. Well, as long as you're here, come in."

   "Th-thanks," she squeaked before slipping out of her shoes and inching her way through the door with the air of a small child trying to maintain a properly sober and religious demeanor within a vast cathedral or some other sacred place.

As she bent down to slip her socks off, he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

   "What are you doing, Excel?"

She laughed nervously.

   "Actually, I was gonna ask if this was okay, or if I could have a towel or something. I think I stepped in something icky on the way here, and it seeped right through my shoes, so my socks are all stained and soggy and stuff. I think it was chocolate ice cream, or something. And you know chocolate stains are murder to get out! Chocolate can leave its indelible mark on a woman's dress and on a woman's waistline. At least, that's what That Woman says. Excel don't eat a lot of chocolate, so she don't really know," she added aside. "Oh, the demon that is chocolate! It wreaks havoc on our lives and on our teeth, and yet we yearn for it!"

   "I…see. Nevertheless, Excel, don't worry about your socks. I was planning on shampooing the carpet tomorrow. Or later this evening."

   "You must be really bored," Excel commented solemnly.

Ilpalazzo made a noise that anyone other than the dazed Excel might have called a whimper.

   "I am not bored," he retorted. "It is true that I've had a lot of free time, but to be honest, it is a nice change."

     "You mean, spending all your free time at home instead of sitting in ACROSS headquarters?" she asked sympathetically, no thought of being sarcastic crossing her mind.

   "I can't drop her down the pit," Ilpalazzo murmured. "For the simple reason that I don't have one. Who would have thought it would come in handy in my own apartment? And if I get blood on the carpet, I won't get my deposit back. Best to handle this without violence." He looked up with a slightly forced smile. "Now, why don't you have a seat and tell me how you lost your latest part-time job?"

Excel frowned as he led her to the couch.

   "Well, I haven't lost the one I have yet, but I guess I could tell you about the last one. Or I could make up a story with lots of vampires and wizards and weird kids with rollerblades and spoon-monkeys and stuff!"

He looked at her with indifference that nearly resembled curiosity.

   "If you haven't lost your job, is this your day off?"

   "Nope! But when Hatchan told me that she saw you in the grocery store earlier and you looked all lonely and bored and trying to decide between three brands of ketchup like it was the most important decision of your life, and said that she thought we should come visit, I dropped a knife on my foot so my boss would send me home early, and Hatchan sorta passed out or died or something when she saw all the blood, so he set her home too, and we came right over here, and I forgot to mention that I might be getting a little blood on your carpet along with the chocolate," she finished sadly, eyeing the red-brown sneaker prints on the wheat-colored Berber.

He took a deep, calming breath while inwardly bidding his deposit a sad farewell unless the carpet cleaner could work the miracles that the infomercials he had watched for most of the previous night while unable to sleep claimed that it could. This, he severely doubted…

   "Don't worry about that. Although," he continued, gazing carefully at her, "your clothes are filthy. What on earth did you do on the way over here?"

Excel leapt off of the couch.

   "Excel is sorry! She didn't mean to get her dirt all over your couch! She just did what she always does, she thinks."

   "You look like you romped through every mud puddle and dust cloud you could find!"

   "Yeah! That's what I just said. Excel did what she always does!"

   "Hmm. Well, as long as I've got a load of laundry ready, I might as well wash those," he said quite casually.

­_Okay! _Excel's brain barked. _Something severe X-Files bizzareness goin' on here!_

   "Uh…what?" she finally managed to squeak.

   "I'm going to wash those," he explained patiently, gesturing to her clothes. "Now," he continued firmly, seizing the hem of her shirt, "off with them."

   "Excel, this is your brain," she said, curiously enough out loud, her voice muffled a bit by a layer of pink cotton being pulled up over her head. "You will not panic! You will also not overreact, squeal like an idiot, gush blood from your nose all over the place, die of joy, or get distracted by a shiny thing. Holy crap!" she concluded as a pair of hands that she was reasonably certain weren't hers, began working at the fly of her shorts.

   "Well, I can't wash them if they're on you," he explained indulgently.

She shrugged at this impeccable logic, and then gave a startled yelp as she found herself being quickly deprived of her undergarments. She twisted around and stared incredulously at the man behind her, reading the washing instructions on the plain white cotton brassiere dangling from his hands.

He looked up.

   "It would be silly to wash everything else and not these, wouldn't it?" he asked with an absent shrug.

   "Whoa! This is going beyond X-Files bizarreness, although Excel is starting to think that she would watch The X-Files more often if things like this happened on it, and if she had a TV, and if she liked American TV, and if she didn't think that guy with the big nose was really, really creepy, and does Lord Ilpalazzo think that Excel could borrow one of his towels? She doesn't have any problem with _you_ seeing her, of course, but she does notice that your blinds are open, and there's an old man in the building across the street with a video camera."

Rolling his eyes slightly, Ilpalazzo stalked across the room, flipped the blinds shut, and turned around.

   "Better?"

   "Yeah, I guess so, but could I still borrow a towel or somethin'? It's kinda cold in here…"

He smiled a small, amused smile.

   "Lend you one of my clean towels with you looking like that? I'm afraid not, Excel."

   "So, I've just gotta stand here, bare-ass naked, until your load of wash is done?! I guess that's sorta okay, heck, it's even really, really okay, but it's also kinda weird. It's been a long-standing dream of Excel's to be in a situation notably similar to this one, but usually in her dream, Lord Ilpalazzo is naked, too, and he's paying a little more attention to her than to fabric softener," she concluded sadly as he disappeared into the laundry room.

   "If I lend you a shirt, will you stop complaining?" he called from the small room just off the kitchen.

   "Excel didn't think she _was_ complaining," she admitted, scratching her head as a white button-up dress shirt sailed through the door and landed on it.

   "Go take a bath before you put that on; I just washed it."

   "Eh-heh-heh-heh-heh…you want me to go use your bathtub?"

   "That is where most people take baths, yes," he replied, leaning briefly out the door. "Of course, since it's you, you might prefer the kitchen sink, or a large, gaping pit installed into the floor."

Excel moved hastily away from where she was standing.

   "You don't actually have one of those here, do you?"

-------------------------------------------------------

   "Oh, my," Hyatt murmured, opening one eye slowly. "What a nice nap. Such a pretty day to simply sit outside and commune with nature. I do wonder how long I've been asleep, though…"

This thought trailed off as the still-groggy young woman got her other eye open and gazed about her at the concerned crowd that had gathered.

   "Er, hello, everyone," she greeted hesitantly.

_Oh, dear…I might not be able to get up to Lord—er, Mr. Ilpalazzo's apartment for quite a while…_

----------------------------------------------------------

    "And how is everything going in here?"

    "Ack!" Excel shrieked, diving behind the shower curtain with a tremendous splash and an equally tremendous thunk as her skull collided with the bottom of the tub.

Then, straightening up and expelling the water from her lungs with a cough, she peeked out from behind the curtain and gave Ilpalazzo, waiting by the door, an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

  "Excel is doing just fine! And she's really, really enjoying the unique experience of taking a bath in the home of the most super-duper cool, glorious, and ultra-dreamy guy in the world!"

He made a disapproving noise, starting forward.

   "You didn't use any bubbles."

   "B-bubbles?"

   "Yes; I left a large jug of citrus-scented bubble bath right there, on the edge of the tub, for just such situations. I don't use it myself, of course," he added hastily as her expression twisted into what he misinterpreted for a grin, but which was actually merely the start of a nervous laugh.

   "Yeah, I see it now," she said cheerfully, edging back further behind the shower curtain and tugging it over what ought to be covered as he knelt next to the tub.

   "As long as I'm here, I might as well help you with that. After all," he added scornfully, "I don't suppose you use a lot of bubble bath, and I wouldn't want waste going on. Such things are truly what have led to the corruption of this world!"

He struck a dramatic pose.

Excel sat motionless in the soapy water, gazing at him in equal parts admiration and sympathy. Then she frowned.

_If he has that bubble bath around for situations like this,_ she thought as he adjusted the taps and poured several capfuls of the orange goo from a bottle labeled **Property of Neon Genesis Evangelion**, _does that mean that he has lots of girls showing up to take bubble baths? Oh, no! Come to think about it, Hatchan was gone for an awfully long time today. What if…no, Excel! Don't spoil this rapturous moment with such disturbing thoughts! But… I wonder if he really does haul strange girls in off the street to give them baths…_

He looked up with a slight smirk.

   "No, I don't."

Excel blinked.

   "Um…I didn't say that out loud. I just thought it. See?" She pointed up at the internal monologue, now floating away through the open window. "Italics."

   "Well, then, Excel, I would say that we ought to chalk it up to contrivance and bad writing."

   "Yeah, probably," Excel agreed cheerfully before jumping nervously out of the way as Ilpalazzo reached into the tub to swirl the bubble bath around, his hand grazing her leg.

_Hey, it may be weird,_ she thought, utterly unaware of her huge grin, _but I likes it anyway!_

-------------------------------------------------------------

Several minutes of desperate explanation later, Hyatt made her way into the building, having finally managed to break away from the concerned crowd.

   "Now, which apartment was it again?" she murmured to herself, unfolding the slip of paper.

-------------------------------------------------------------

   "Can I come out now?" Excel called drowsily an hour later, leaning out the bathroom door. "Excel is starting to feel a little woozy from all the warm water; kind of like that time she fell asleep in the hot tubs at the public pool and that nice lady dragged her outside and threw her in the snow and she got a really bad cold and she had to live on cold medicine for the next three weeks, and let's just say Excel learned why they tell you not to operate heavy machinery when you're taking NyQuil," she concluded. Then, with a hopeful smile, she repeated, "So…_can_ I come out now?"

Ilpalazzo considered this for a moment from the living room, where he was dusting every empty surface he could find for the fourth time that afternoon.

   "I don't know…I think you've missed some spots."

   "But Excel's been sitting in the tub for an hour!" she whined. "She's getting all wrinkly and starting to bear a creepily strong resemblance to her grandma!"

   "Oh, very well," he grumbled, tossing a shirt at her. "But make sure to be very, very careful with that."

   "Okay," she chirped agreeably around a tremendous yawn.

   "Now that you're finished," Ilpalazzo began hopefully, "do you like toast?"

-------------------------------------------------------------

   "Goodness," Hyatt noted, eyes already starting to blur just a wee bit as she stared at the trek before her. "There certainly are a lot of stairs here, aren't there?."

Meanwhile, an oldish man in golf pants watched her, wondering what this pretty little thing was doing staring at the elevator like that.

--------------------------------------------------------------

   "Wow! This toast is fantastic! Delicious! Perfect! Just cold enough to bring out the flavor and natural toasty goodness! And the orange goop with orange peels stuck in it! Magnifico! Truly, this toast is a god among warmed bread!" Excel proclaimed, bouncing wildly around the table and showering crumbs behind her as she went.

   "Oh, well, it's alright, I suppose. Not nearly as good as the fifteenth batch of the day. Now, that was truly some wonderful toast. Perfect level of crispness, not too light, not too dark, and – you're making a mess," Ilpalazzo concluded coldly.

   "Urk! Excel is sorry!" she yelped, dropping apologetically into a chair with such force that it tipped over and deposited her unceremoniously on the linoleum. "Ow…"

   "That's what happens when you mistreat the furniture," he said, disentangling her from the chair and then setting the chair upright again. "Now, why don't you try that again? Carefully."

   "Right-o!" Excel exclaimed, leaping to her feet. "Excel will endeavor to treat the furniture with the respect and gentleness it deserves! Your kitchen chair and I will get along great! We'll be best friends by the time the wash cycle's done! Heck, by the time I'm finished this super-duper fabulous toast!"

With that, she dove back into the chair, which promptly fell over again.

Ilpalazzo sighed as, undaunted, she scrambled to her feet and tried again.

Well, at least it beat watching infomercials.

-------------------------------------------------------------

   "I think I've finally found the right apartment," Hyatt noted, pleased, as she compared the number on the door to the number on the slip of paper she held.

She raised her hand to knock, the effort of which sent her toppling immediately to the ground.

--------------------------------------------------------------

   "Excel is pretty sure she just heard the washing machine stop," the blonde spoke up hesitantly half an hour and twelve pieces of toast later.

   "No, you didn't," Ilpalazzo said immediately. "So, Excel, tell me about what's new and exciting with you and Hyatt. Anything particularly…interesting?"

She sent him a sympathetic look.

   "You wanna ask about ACROSS, don't you?"

He made another decidedly whimpery sound, and then cleared his throat and shrugged indifferently.

   "Oh, well, if you want to tell me about it, I suppose I'll just have to listen."

   "Actually, I'm pretty sure you could come up with tons of different ways to avoid listening to Excel if you wanted to. You could kick my chair over, or throw something at me, or call in trained seals to beat me up and bounce me around on their noses, or you could throw me out the window, or—"

   "Just…tell me how things are going, alright?"

Excel pondered this very carefully for a moment. Then, looking plaintively up at him, she said decidedly,

   "They're lousy!"

He hid a pleased smile. Well! It seemed as though that horrid woman hadn't managed to completely win over those who should rightfully be under his command yet.

   "Now, now, Excel, you can't very well tell me about the problems you're having with your…" He choked slightly over the words. "…new commander."

Excel scratched her head.

   "That's weird. Excel sorta thought that's why you were asking," she admitted with a laugh. "But I guess if you're sure…"

An uncomfortable silence fell. Then…

   "On second thought, tell me everything," Ilpalazzo commanded, leaning forward eagerly.

Excel took a deep, preparatory breath.

   "Okay; first of all, we're doin' some weird crap now! Lady That Woman doesn't have any interest in correcting the problem of the corruption of society. All she wants to do is have bake sales and quilting bees and bachelor auctions and things like that! It's getting really boring! And she redecorated the ACROSS headquarters! Now there are these weird paintings of melting clocks everywhere! She says they're deep, but they just remind me of what the world looked like the last time I was sorta high on Sudafed. And I never, ever get dropped down the pit anymore," she concluded mournfully. "I bet all the creatures down there have forgotten what my blood tastes like. I'll come back, and they'll all be strangers to me!"

As she stopped for breath, a quiet rap at the door caught their attention.

   "My goodness," Ilpalazzo said with a frown. "I'm on a bit of a roll with this whole company thing today."

   "That's probably Hatchan," Excel called from the table. "It's about when I thought she'd be showing up."

He stopped and turned around.

   "Didn't you leave her just downstairs?"

Excel stared at him as though he'd sprouted another head.

   "Well, yeah, but it's _Hatchan_."

   "Right. Of course," he sighed, turning back to the door. "Oh, hello there, Hyatt. Come on in. We were just having some toast. Would you like some?"

Hyatt smiled politely up at the tall man and stepped into the apartment.

   "Hey, Hatchan!"

The dark-haired girl blinked once or twice at the odd scene before her.

Seated at the kitchen table, wearing a shirt obviously too big for her but just the right size for their host, was her Senior Excel, waving an enthusiastic greeting and finishing what appeared to be breakfast.

   "Oh, dear," Hyatt murmured. "How long was I under that tree?"

-------------------------------------------------------------

   "My God," Ilpalazzo said slowly, head buried in his hands as the harp music signaling the end of the Parallel Universe Sequence faded. "It's more horrifying that I thought possible. Laundry, toast, shampooing the carpet, infomercials! These are the sorts of things that the unemployed portion of the ignorant masses finds to amuse themselves?"

   "Did…did Lord Ilpalazzo just give Excel a bubble-bath in his Flashback Sequence?" Excel asked, faint with hope, still staring at the screen which the four had been crowded around, watching the events of the chapter unfold.

   "I suppose that just shows what's going on in his subconscious," That Woman giggled to Hyatt, who giggled back and promptly lost consciousness from the exertion.

   "Still," That Woman continued with a frown, "I'm a little offended at the whole 'That Woman never wants to do anything worthwhile' bit. Bake sales? Quilting bees? The bachelor auctions sound kind of fun, but…quilting bees?!"

   "Yes, that puzzles me, too," he admitted, utterly ignoring That Woman. "It seems extremely unlikely that such a…bizarre sequence of events could unfold in exactly that way, with every slightly out-of-character reaction occurring at exactly the right moment to bring that ultimately strange event into being."

   "I guess we just blame the author again, huh?" Excel said on her twelfth lap around the table.

   "That's probably the best thing to do," That Woman sighed. Then she frowned sternly at Ilpalazzo. "So, young man, have you made your choice?"

The 'young man' in question let out a pained groan.

   "Yes, I have." He glared at her. "Being placed under your command is a repulsive thought, but I am willing to endure far worse to keep a scenario like that from ever coming to pass."

   "Except for the bubble bath part, right?" That Woman grinned, winking at Excel, who blushed, starting at a sweet, fetching rosy pink and ending up somewhere closer to magenta, and Hyatt, who dragged herself off of the table just in time to smile back.

   "Yes, except for the bubble bath," he agreed absently. Then, as he took a sip of coffee, exactly what he had just said hit him, and he choked and sputtered in a most undignified fashion. "No! No, forget I said that!"

   "Okay, okay," That Woman said, exasperated. "As much fun as it is embarrassing him, we don't have time for this. We have a lot of important things to discuss, such as exactly _what_ you have all been spending your time at, and where we will go from this point. I think—"

   "Er, Miss That Woman?" Hyatt ventured timidly.

   "Yes, Hyatt?"

   "I believe this chapter has already exceeded the attention span limit length of the average reader looking simply to unwind after a hard day in the real world."

   "Well, it seems that it's exceeded Excel's attention span, at any rate," That Woman sighed, following the blonde, who had begun to tango around the shop with a wooden dummy, with her gaze.

   "Yes, but you must consider that a dramatic recitation of See Spot Run would exceed Excel's attention span," Ilpalazzo interjected.

   "Oh, whatever! Let's just end the chapter here, and discuss our plans…uh, later," That Woman said decisively.

Hyatt nodded meekly.

Ilpalazzo nodded grudgingly.

Excel made another lap of the coffee shop, singing a rousing chorus of "The Masochism Tango".

That Woman glared up at the ceiling.

   "Chapter's over! Go away!"

------------------------------------------------------------

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End Notes: Hee-hee-hee! Okay; this was the AU/intentionally OOC chapter. From here on out, any OOCness will be purely accidental! Uh…anyway…

I realize that Ilpalazzo would not turn into some loser with absolutely nothing to do with his free time if he for some reason removed himself from ACROSS (or at least, I realize that this opinion may be mine alone). I just loved the mental image of him staring intently at the toaster, waiting for the latest batch to pop up, with a huge stack next to him on the counter.

Yeah, these are the kinds of thoughts that keep me out of all the good schools. :o)

And, of course, the set-up for the joke. That's gotta be the longest set-up I've ever written for a bad joke/misleading appearance moment. Yaay!

And in conclusion, I do solemnly swear that I shall not inflict another chapter this unmercifully long upon those kind souls who are reading this little labor of love, Diet Pepsi-high, and just a bit of boredom.


	3. Some Sort of Abusive Psycho Sexist

Chapter 3

----------------------------------------------------

It had not been a good life.

For starters, he had been born.

It was Pedro's slightly blue temperament at the moment that prompted this rather mordant thought.

Still, how could one be anything but mordant when his recently recovered idyllic family life had turned out to be anything but?

It was bound to happen; in his long absence, his family had grown away from him.

Certainly, they had been very much the close, happy family while on vacation in Japan, but now, back home and facing the strains and unpleasant aspects of everyday life, they were starting to slowly but surely get on each other's nerves.

This had hit home with almost painful clarity when, upon accidentally upsetting his coffee all over the table, Pedro had raised his hands to his cheeks and howled,

   "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

His sexy wife had rolled her eyes and made an exasperated noise.

   "Pedro, it's just spilled coffee. Grown men don't 'no' over spilled coffee, you know. And I wish you would stop doing that! It frazzles my nerves, and you know that with the new baby coming, that is not healthy."

And there was the next of the many problems: the new child. A constant reminder of his sexy wife's unfaithfulness with the lover of his own extra-marital lover.

It was all very confusing – far too confusing for Pedro, who had long ago stopped trying to sort it out and was now merely staring bleakly at his coffee spoon, tears streaming down his cheeks.

   "Papa, are you crying again?" a young voice asked from behind him in disgust. "If you spent as much time practicing your football technique as you spend at the table, staring at that spoon and crying, maybe I wouldn't beat you every time."

   "Oh, Sandora, do not be so hard on your poor papa," Pedro implored. "It has not been an easy time for our family."

Sandora's expression softened as he prepared to impart the same wisdom that one special child in every universe seems to possess, that every grown-up around them has somehow missed.

   "Papa, it has been a long and difficult road for us, but we have finally seen the end of it! Why do you remain so sad?"

   "Because, my dear son," Pedro wept, "your papa has the distinct feeling that the worst is not over yet!"

   "What more could be to come?" Sandora demanded, bouncing a soccer ball off his forehead. "The anime series has already ended!"

   "Yes, I know, Sandora, but it is simply the intuition of a man to whom such misfortune is commonplace. I can't help but wonder—"

   "Shh!" Sandora hissed, looking about suspiciously. Eyes narrowing, he leaned closer to his father. "Do you hear that?"

   "It is your sexy mama, yes?"

   "She is on the telephone in the other room."

Pedro gasped, and then raised his hands to his cheeks, preparing to utter his famous battle cry.

   "N—"

   "Shh!" Sandora hissed again, more annoyed this time. "Who do you think Mama is talking to?"

   "I do not know, Sandora, but your papa fears that his distinct feeling of misfortune to come will be realized much sooner than he thought!"

   "Let us go shamelessly eavesdrop through the keyhole!"

   "Sandora, as your father, I must—"

   "It is for the good of our family, Papa! We must get to the bottom of this if we want to exist happily and peacefully as we did before!"

Pedro considered this carefully for a moment, head buried in his hands, tears forming a puddle around his head like a halo of not-happiness. If it would help to preserve the happiness of his family, could it truly be all bad?

With a sigh of defeat, he raised his head from the table and crept silently, behind his son, over to the door leading into the den. There, two generations of former Afro Warriors crouched, straining to hear the telephone conversation on the other side.

What would they hear?

Only time would tell…very little time, as the telephone conversation was at that moment going on, and the average one did not tend to exceed a few hours in length, unless one was dealing with an incredibly talkative person, which Pedro's Sexy Wife was not particularly. To be sure, she could get as rowdy and talkative as anyone when she had a bit of beer in her, but as it was the middle of the afternoon, and she was carrying a child, it was fairly safe to say that she had not yet partaken of everyone's favorite depressant.

All of this was beside the point, which was that it was high time for a scene change, as revelations such as the one that may or may not have awaited Pedro and Sandora were best taken with the suspense of prolonging the discovery until after another, totally unrelated scene.

Or seven.

---------------------------------------------

Menchi lay, draped listlessly across the arm of a chair, pondering to herself the meaninglessness of life and the futility of death.

At least, this is what the narration was left to assume that she was pondering, since her translator was notably absent, and the narration did not, and still does not, speak puppy. Particularly sad, angsty puppy.

Nevertheless, given Menchi's circumstances within the world, it was safe to say that her train of thought was not a happy one.

For Menchi was a smart puppy in her own way, and thus knew that her unwanted owners would be returning any moment. With each day the two girls returned, utterly without food and money, her chances of becoming an entrée grew just a little.

To be sure, it had occurred to Menchi that if these two nutcases she lived with had not eaten her yet, it was not likely to happen, as one did grow quite sentimentally fond of cute, fwuffy wittle animals that one had been around for a good deal of time, but she had shoved the thought aside, as it interfered with and nearly invalidated her artful puppy-angst.

At this point, any further ponderings of the unfortunate Miss Menchi were cut short as the door swung open.

   "Awr!" Menchi yelped miserably, darting into the washroom and huddling, terrified, underneath the threadbare bath mat.

Surely, those two terrifying creatures that Fate had dictated she should live with would be looking for her soon…

She lay very still, listening carefully for the excruciatingly cheerful voice of the blonde monster calling for her, or for approaching footsteps.

Neither came.

Blinking sad, pitiful, and somewhat confused eyes, Menchi poked her head out from under the bath mat.

Still nothing!

Well!

Feeling vaguely affronted, she crawled out from under the bath mat and lifted her chin as haughtily as ever a tiny, adorable puppy had.

If her owners wanted to ignore her, she certainly wouldn't go to them first! She would enjoy this short reprieve from fearing for her life!

And so, Menchi curled up on the bath mat to wait…

-----------------------------------------------------

   "Senior," Hyatt began softly, putting a comforting hand on Excel's shoulder as the other girl sat at the table, staring blankly into space with very much the expression of a lost little girl.

Excel looked up at her roommate and tried to smile.

   "Yeah, Hatchan?"

   "Are you going to be okay?

The blonde straightened up, throwing her shoulders back and leaping to her feet.

   "Well, they say a person can get used to anything, even being hanged, which sorta makes sense; I mean, after the first time, you don't care if they're hanging you anymore, but that's probably not what they meant. It was probably more of a metaphorical way of saying something like no matter how bad things get, humans have the capability to adapt and deal with massive amounts of crappy luck and things! So, I figure we'll adapt to this! I bet, by the time the week's over, it'll feel like things have always been this way, and we'll love working for Lady That Woman, and…and…"

Here, she trailed off, lip quivering and eyes filling with tears.

   "Oh, Hatchan, this really blows!" she wailed, burying her face in the other girl's shoulder.

Struggling to remain upright and conscious beneath the added weight, Hyatt patted Excel's hair soothingly. What was one to say in the face of a friend's personal tragedy?

   "I think, Senior," she began hesitantly, "that Lady That Woman is doing the best she can."

Excel straightened up and glared at Hyatt.

   "Doing the best she can? Hyatt, Lady That Woman isn't doing _anything_, let alone the best she can do, or the worst she can do, or the average she can do, or anything else! Remember what we did today? There's a city out there, waiting for the conquering fist of the ideological organization of ACROSS, and we spent the day playing chess while she filled out paperwork!"

Hyatt brightened.

   "Congratulations on winning the mini-tournament, by the way," she said, hoping to distract Excel. "I don't think anyone expected you to have such a flair for the game."

But once started on the nursing of grievances, Excel was not to be deterred.

   "And did you notice how badly she was treating Lord Ilpalazzo?"

   "I don't believe we're supposed to call him that anymore, Senior…"

   "Hey, I don't care what that crazy old broad's got in her 'files'; I'm not calling him Phil! I think she made that up!"

   "Wouldn't we—"

   "I'm not calling him Senior Phil, either!"

   "Oh," Hyatt sighed. "Well, I don't believe Lady That Woman would object if we were to call him Senior Ilpalazzo, so long as we do not hail him…"

   "That was my favorite part!" Excel whined.

   "You know she will permit you to help him in other small ways. After all, we are still technically his subordinates."

Excel scoffed.

   "Yeah; maybe she'll let me bandage him up after those Enlightened Attack Force Hounds she trains to only attack men get him. Great trade-off. Oh, yeah! And she let me jump down the pit after him today to help him kill the giant squid!"

   "Well, it is better than nothing, is it not?"

   "Come on, Hatchan! The woman's some sort of abusive psycho sexist! Who _treats_ their officers like that?!"

Hyatt laughed softly.

   "It is good to know that you still have a sense of humor about this, Senior."

Excel stared.

   "What're you talking about, Hatchan?"

   "You implied that Lady That Woman was the only commander of ACROSS in our experience to abuse an officer."

   "Well, yeah. And?"

   "Oh, dear," Hyatt sighed as a montage of clips of Excel climbing, dripping wet and bleeding, from the pit ran through her mind. "She's begun to rewrite the events of her life to what she wishes to remember again."

   "Geez, Hatchan, you're saying the weirdest stuff today," Excel noted, crossing her arms and shaking her head.

   "Senior Excel, do you have any recollection of how much hardship you underwent before Lady That Woman took over?"

   "Yeah, but…but I probably deserved it!"

Hyatt looked skeptical.

    "Well…"

   "Are you questioning Lord Ilpalazzo's good judgment and fairness?!" Excel demanded furiously, wheeling on Hyatt with such abruptness that the dark-haired girl leapt back nervously.

   "I try not to question what isn't immediately apparent," she murmured.

Excel blinked.

   "Oh. Well, good. You better not start, either. Excel will not stand for any disparagement of the gloriousness of Lord Ilpalazzo! She will destroy, punish, or otherwise annoy any who do not hold the proper amount of respect for him and buy him nice presents on his birthday and other times that he might need cheering up! It occurs to Excel that the last one would describe her too, since the Ol' Bugdet of Etchan and Hatchan doesn't usually stretch to spiffy birthday presents for divinely sexy men, let alone spiffy non-birthday presents for divinely sexy men, but she's not gonna destroy, punish, and otherwise annoy herself, because with Lady That Woman oppressing that divinely sexy man, he's gonna need all the support he can get, right, Hatchan?"

   "I…I suppose so," Hyatt replied rather dizzily as Excel darting at blinding speed about the apartment. It was good to have Senior Excel back to her old self, of course, but it was at the same time so exhausting… "Still, Senior, you must admit that it was very nice of Lady That Woman to offer to find us new part-time jobs."

   "No! Excel ain't gonna admit anything like that! Don't you see, Hatchan? By doing things like this for us, Lady That Woman is robbing us of the ability to be self-sufficient! Look at all we've built up for ourselves through our own blood, sweat, and tears! Most of the blood was yours, and most of the sweat was mine, and most of the tears were Menchi's but it all balances out in the end, right? It has much more meaning than anything that some usurper can just sweep in and hand us! Do you want to lose all this, Hatchan? Do you?!"

Hyatt looked slowly about the small apartment, furnished very, very sparsely indeed. Her gaze lingered on the several instances of cracked plaster for a moment before it darted up to the stained places on the ceiling. Then, this well inspected, her eyes flitted down to the stained and threadbare carpet.

   "All _this_, you say, Senior?" she asked carefully.

   "Yeah, all this! Isn't this a life worth protecting?! The place may not be great, but it's a place to call our own! We have our freedom!"

   "That is true," Hyatt admitted. "And some of our neighbors are very nice, generous, wholesome, and kind people."

As though on cue, a burst of raucous laughter, followed by an angry growl in a different voice, and a painful crash, rang out from the apartment next door.

Hyatt and Excel stared, startled and blinking, at the wall. Excel shook her head.

   "And then there are the rest."

--------------------------------------------------------

   "Hey, man, whaddaya got there?"

Watanabe gave a startled shout and jumped involuntarily. Once he had regained his bearings, he turned around to glare at one of his two best friends in the entire world, one of the two people that he would truly do anything for.

   "What do you want, you idiot?"

   "What is that?" Iwata asked, undeterred by this cold greeting, gesturing to the slips of paper the other young man clutched protectively.

   "Never mind!" Watanabe said, annoyed, tucking them into his pocket.

Iwata's face took on a cunning look.

   "It's that Miss Ayasugi girl again, isn't it?"

Watanabe glared coldly at Iwata again for a moment, before his resolve crumbled before his desire to tell someone the god news, and he broke into a huge smile.

   "Yeah, it is. I won two tickets to a live theatre show, so I'm going to ask her." His glare returned. "And don't say a word. If you laugh, I'll kill you."

   "Hey, hey, I think it's a great idea," Iwata protested before laughing wickedly. "Chicks love that kind of cultured crap. Don't you agree, Misaki? Ack!" he finished as a fist shot out of the other room and sent him flying to a wall.

   "Whatever, man," Watanabe sighed, rolling his eyes. "I'm gonna go ask her now before your total stupidity regarding women becomes catching.

He pulled the tickets from his pocket.

   "I'm leaving them there. Whatever you do, _don't touch them_. I don't want anything to ruin this."

With that, he swung his coat over his shoulders and exited the apartment.

   "Hmm," Misaki began thoughtfully, picking up one of the tickets and reading it. "'The Rocky Horror Show. Exclusive Live Performance'."

Her eyebrows shot up and she hid a grin.

   "I wonder if life will get worse for Watanabe if his Miss Ayasugi hates it, or if she likes it."

Iwata groaned painfully, peeling himself from the him-shaped indentation in the wall.

   "Whaaa?"

------------------------------------------------

   "It is all over for Pedro," that same bushy-haired man sobbed into his hands as the vaguely melancholy, yet vaguely heroic guitar music played in the background.

Sandora placed a hand on his father's arm, saying nothing. Truly, things did not look good…

   "Your sexy mama has surely taken up with That Man again, Sandora!"

   "But Papa, That Man is dead!"

Pedro raised his head from its puddle of tears on the table and stared at his son, aghast.

   "You mean, Pedro's sexy wife is a necrophile?! NOOOOO!"

   "No, Papa! I meant that it is a different man. But still, we must not borrow trouble when we have been given so much of our own. We do not…we do not know for certain that Mama is seeing anyone."

   "What else could it mean, Sandora?" Pedro wept. "She told him that she would meet him in town next Thursday, but that she would have to make it quick so that her husband did not find out!"

   "Perhaps Mama is planning a surprise party?" Sandora suggested lamely.

   "No, Sandora, Pedro must reconcile himself to a life alone."

   "Your son will always be with you!"

   "Oh, Pedro, there you are," a voice proclaimed fondly from the doorway.

Pedro and Sandora looked up at the woman standing before them, struggling to keep their expressions neutral in light of what they had recently learned.

   "Pedro, dear, I will be taking a trip into town next Thursday, so my two men will have to fend for themselves for dinner," she said with a smile, ruffling her son's hair with one hand and wrapping her other arm around her husband's shoulders, resting her cheek briefly on his shoulder.

Then, straightening up, she turned and left the kitchen.

Pedro, fresh tears already streaming down his cheeks, raised his hands to his face, where they promptly became rather soggy.

Sandora, rolling his eyes slightly, dove under the table and held his hands tightly over his ears as the single world rang out to the heavens.

   "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!"

------------------------------------------------

End Notes: Okay, it was kind of a down-time chapter. Ya gotta have those, right? Okay, Rhianwen's grasping at straws. Still, no author inserts, and the fourth wall remained more or less in tact. That's a good thing, isn't it? :o)

And I have my own doubts about the characterization. Hyatt's too clever, Excel's too dispirited – I'm pretending it's because she's still in shock – Iwata's not his usual entertaining self (although the scene didn't really showcase him), and Watanbe…he's just this over-serious, love-struck twit! Hey, wait a second… :o)


End file.
